


Amy

by Isilien_Elenihin



Series: Amaranthine [4]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Amaranthine, F/M, Warehouse 13 fusion fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilien_Elenihin/pseuds/Isilien_Elenihin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vignette from Amaranthine, my Warehouse 13 au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amy

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing you recognize belongs to me. One line taken from 'Second Coming' by W.B. Yeats.

" _Amy_."

People are talking around her–Rory, the Doctor–she knows this, but their voices are muffled and tinny like the connection on the Farnsworth's gone bad, impossible as that may be. There's a crystallized bubble of still, empty space around her, a barrier nearly as strong as her disbelief. The world has gone mad. The universe tilts on its axis. The cracked handle of Rose's favorite mug juts out of the rubble near Amy's foot and she stares at it, wide-eyed. Tea, they were having tea before all of this started, before Amy Pond's existence stopped making sense.

 _Things fall apart; the center cannot hold_.

"Amelia!" The silence surrounding her shatters. The Doctor's hands fasten on her shoulders and he's trembling; perhaps he will shake her. Her eyes slide away from his and come to rest on his bowtie (red today, like Rose's sweater). It's undone and halfway out of his collar. He looks ridiculous (he's worried, she knows–he only calls her 'Amelia' when he worries about her, when he needs to remind himself that she is still the seven-year-old child whose life was ripped apart by a chance encounter with an artifact).

Someone is laughing. Belatedly Amy realizes that it's her. Oh. So this is what hysteria feels like.

"Amy." Fingers thread through her own–Rory's. She clings to him like a lifeline and he doesn't complain that she's cutting off his circulation; he just clings back.

"Amelia, you have to choose." She manages to pull her gaze away from the Doctor's ridiculous clothes (and honestly, who is he trying to be, her Maths professor?) to his burning green eyes. His face is smudged with soot, except where it isn't–long lines of clear skin running from his eyes down to the edge of his jaw. He's crying.

Amy blinks and raises a hand to her own cheek. So is she.

"Why?" Rory wants to know. "Why does it have to be Amy? It's _your_ mess, Doctor, why don't you clean it up?" He tugs her hand, pulls her just a bit behind him. Rory Williams may not be over a thousand years old, he may not have seen the fall of Rome or had tea with Queen Elizabeth I or have the key to the front door of 'Endless Wonder,' but none of that matters. Because without any of that he will consistently place himself between the woman he loves and mortal peril. It's one of the things Amy loves about him. It also (occasionally) drives her a little bit mad.

"Because I can't, Rory. Not this time." The Doctor's voice is quiet but Amy can hear the strain beneath it, the ragged edge he's trying so hard to keep hidden.

"Bring her back." Amy clears her throat; the smoke has made her hoarse. "You–you've got to bring her back, Doctor."

He shakes his head. "I can't, Pond."

"But it's the _Warehouse_!" His lips pull into a thin line and she grabs his shoulder. "Doctor, it's _Rose_."

"Yes, thank you, Amelia, I know!" He spins away from her, all gangly arms and legs and frantic motion with no outlet. His eyes glance over the rubble around them and she knows when he sees the mug because, for a long moment, he stands so still Amy doesn't think he's breathing. But then he's back in motion, pacing restlessly.

"You're the Doctor!" she continues and this is the core of her belief, the truth that has sustained her through fourteen years of therapy and four psychiatrists, this is the rock she built her life on: "you can fix this."

Her words strike him like a blow. His eyes close, his shoulders hunch just a bit, and when he exhales it's something of a sigh. "Oh, Amelia." The Doctor smiles and it is a small, fragile thing. "Not all the time. Sometimes I can't save everyone. Sometimes I can't save anyone at all."

* * *


End file.
